by Heidi Lang
She headed to the park, her heart lifting as she spotted a very familiar blue hat up ahead. She sped up, then stopped dead as she realized: Max wasn’t waiting at the park for her. No, he was already busy playing soccer with someone else. A slim girl, her long brown hair pulled back in a low ponytail that slithered and slipped around her shoulders as she ran.
Loralee. Max was playing soccer . . . with Loralee.
Jessie slunk behind an elm. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from them, from Max laughing, laughing with Loralee. Her lips were even curled in a smile, a real one, as she kicked the soccer ball.
Jessie’s throat hurt. It felt worse than sprinting with Angel. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again, watching as Max dribbled the ball past Loralee. Loralee darted in, snaking the ball from between his feet. He was definitely going easy on her, but she was actually pretty good, too. Who’d have thought?
“Max!” a woman called, and Max turned.
It was the other dog walker, waving from across the park.
Jessie shrank against the tree, her mouth falling open. How did that woman know Max? Wait a second . . . Jessie squinted at the dog next to the woman. Zelda. She had taken Zelda; Jessie would recognize those bushy eyebrows anywhere. It was like getting hit in the face with a soccer ball. Dimly she observed that Zelda’s leash wasn’t even clipped in to the woman’s hip pack. Probably for the best, since her pack looked flimsy enough that one good tug would likely snap it.
“Who’s that?” Loralee eyed the other woman.
“Oh, just my mom.” Max raised a hand half-heartedly.
His mom?
The world stopped moving for a second, two seconds, then sped up so fast it was like Jessie was going to spin right off it. His mom. The dog-walk thief was Max’s mom.
Loralee darted in suddenly, stealing the ball from Max and sprinting toward the goal.
“You are such a cheat!” Max grabbed her arm and pulled her around. She grinned up at him, their bodies still touching, before she whispered something that made him blush and let her go. As she jogged away from him, laughing, she glanced at the line of elm trees, her eyes meeting Jessie’s.
Loralee smirked, her steps slowing.
Jessie pushed herself off the tree, turned, and ran, not waiting to see if Loralee would say anything, not wanting Max to know she’d been there.
CHAPTER 9
Jessie raced inside the house.
“Jessie, what’s—” Ann began.
Slam!
Jessie shut herself inside the bathroom.
“Are you crying?”
“No!” Jessie yelled. “Just, just leave me alone.” She turned on the shower, letting the noise of the water block out everything else. Then she sat on the floor, wrapped her arms around her legs, and buried her face in her knees.
She didn’t care about stupid Max playing soccer with someone else. She didn’t even care that he’d obviously waited so he wouldn’t run into her there, that he’d obviously planned on playing with someone else without telling her. If it had been anyone else, anyone at all . . . but no. It had to be Loralee.
Loralee, with her glossy lips and her mocking tone and her ability to make Jessie feel like she was smaller and more pathetic than anyone. Loralee, who took everything from her. Loralee.
Jessie could still remember the moment she’d met the older girl. It was burned into her memory, humiliation holding it firmly in place no matter how hard she tried burying it.
It had been midway through last summer.
Jessie was wearing one of her dad’s overlarge T-shirts with a piece of rope tied around her waist so it looked like a robe. She and Ann were pretending to be wizards out in the front yard. Ann grumbled that they were getting a little old for games of make-believe, but Jessie could still get her cousin to play most of the time, even if she refused to dress up. At least she’d still wear the hat.
“OK, Ann, it’s your turn to make the life elixir,” she said.
Ann sighed. “Are you seriously dying already? I thought we just made some.”
“I’m all out.” Jessie held out her mug and tipped it over, showing how empty it was. She grinned at her cousin.
“Your tongue is blue,” Ann laughed.
“I told you! I’m dying. Wizard duels are no joke.”
“Fine, fine. Here, give me your cup.”
“Goblet,” Jessie corrected.
“Goblet. I’ll be right back.” Ann slipped inside the house, the top of her pointed homemade wizard hat brushing the doorframe.
“Oh. My. God.”
Jessie looked around.
A girl was staring at her from the sidewalk on the other side of Aunt Bea’s rose bushes. She was tall and slender and, there was no other word for it, glossy. Her lips shimmered, her sequined purple tank top glimmered, and her long brown hair shone like polished wood in the sun. “What are you wearing?” she demanded.
At eleven, Jessie had been full of confidence, but in the face of so much scorn coming from someone so pretty, she felt herself wavering. “A, uh, wizard’s robe,” she half-mumbled.
“A wizard’s robe. Really.”
Jessie shrugged. “It could be.” She could feel her face burning, but she didn’t care what some stranger thought. Did she?
“OK, Jess—” Ann stopped abruptly in the doorway. In the blink of an eye she’d shoved her pointed hat off her head and smoothed her hair. “L-Loralee?” She stepped outside, gaping at the stranger.
“Oh. Hey. You were in my math class this year, right?” Loralee said.
“Um, yeah,” Ann managed. “I sat behind you. I was also in your English, and Social Studies, and—”
“Fine, fine.” Loralee tossed her head like she was shaking off a fly. “Anyhow, I’m stuck here for the summer, and it is so boring. Everyone else is out of town vacationing or at camp or whatever.” She looked Ann up and down, her eyes narrowing critically. “It’s Ann-Marie, right?”
“Uh, sure.”
“You want to come walk with me? That is, unless you’re busy.” She flicked a glance at Jessie.
“No. No, I’m not busy.” Now it was Ann’s turn to look at Jessie. “This is just my cousin.”
Just my cousin. It was worse than a slap; it was like a punch to the rib cage. Jessie felt like she had no air and no voice.
Ann dropped Jessie’s mug on the picnic table before following Loralee. Blue Kool-Aid sloshed out the side, staining the table in a ring. Jessie stared at that stain as her cousin left her behind, without a glance, without a thought. As if Jessie was nothing but a stain, too.
And when the two girls were out of sight, Jessie shoved the mug off the table, where it shattered on the cement beneath it.
Jessie breathed in the steam filling the small bathroom.
“Stop wasting water!” Aunt Beatrice pounded on the door. “Jessie? You hear me?”
Jessie’s memories scattered like squirrels in a dog park. She turned off the water, wiped her face, and left the safety of the bathroom. She could feel her aunt staring at her and knew her face was probably all red and splotchy.
Aunt Beatrice opened her mouth, her face pinched with concern, but then she shook her head and walked away. Like she didn’t want to know, didn’t want to get involved.
Jessie didn’t care, though. She didn’t need her aunt’s help and didn’t want her concern. All she needed was to learn the Rules of the Ruff, and she would get her dog at the end of the summer, and then she’d never have to worry about being left behind again.
Max was just a stupid boy; she wouldn’t waste any more time on him. And Ann was just another silly pawn.
But Loralee . . .
Loralee had taken Ann. And now she’d taken Max. And Jessie was tired of losing people to her enemy. Her anger glowed hotter as she pictured Loralee’s glossy, smug little smile.
Loralee had to pay.
CHAPTER 10
Jessie skipped dinner that night, claiming she wasn’t feeling well. She was too angry
to eat, her stomach full of rage. Instead, she hid in Ann’s bedroom and began a list of ways to get revenge on Loralee. She jotted down a few ideas but quickly ran out. Maybe she could just kick a soccer ball right at her face?
Jessie considered this idea. It definitely had appeal, but she doubted she’d actually do it. Not only was it a blatant misuse of a perfectly good soccer ball, but it seemed a little too brutal. Besides, Max would probably just feel sorry for Loralee and fall madly in love with her once she was all injured and vulnerable. Not that Jessie cared or anything. But still.
She could . . . cut Loralee’s hair? Hmm. Maybe.
“Hey, you OK?” Ann asked.
Jessie jumped and dropped her notebook. “Don’t—” she began, but it was too late. Ann had already picked it up.
“How to Make Loralee Suffer,” she read. “Number one: Steal her lip gloss.” Her own lips quirked in a small smile. “You’re really not very good at this, are you?”
“Revenge doesn’t come easily to me,” Jessie muttered, snatching back her notebook. “Are you going to tell Loralee?”
“That you’re plotting to steal her lip gloss? Or, what was number two? Sending her anonymous letters about how ugly her clothes are?” Ann shook her head. “I’ll let it be a surprise.” She flopped onto her bed.
“You’re not mad?” Jessie asked, surprised.
“No. I get why you don’t like her. I mean, she’s really fun, and I think if you got to know her better—”
Jessie made a rude noise.
Ann sighed. “But I understand,” she finished quietly. She looked somehow smaller than normal, like she was slowly folding into herself, disappearing into the bed beneath her.
“Are you on the outs with Loralee?” Jessie asked.
“On the outs? No. Why?”
“You’re not hanging out as much.”
Ann blew her bangs off her forehead. “Well, she’s got a new toy to amuse herself with this summer. It’s kind of what she does.”
“New toy?”
“You know. Max.”
“He’s not a toy,” Jessie snapped.
Ann tilted her head to the side, studying Jessie. “You like him,” she realized.
“I do not!”
Ann sat up. “Is it true? The great Jessie Jamison has a crush on a boy?”
“Shut up, Ann. I don’t like him. I just, he was fun to play soccer with. That’s all.”
“And he sure does have a nice smile, yeah? And those legs!” Ann mock swooned.
Jessie threw a pillow at her. “I said shut it, Ann.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ann giggled. “I’ll stop.” She was quiet, but only for a minute, before adding, “Loralee usually gets bored pretty quickly. She’ll probably drop Max in a week or two anyhow.”
Jessie didn’t respond, and silence built around them, awkward and uncomfortable as it pushed its way into every corner of the room. Jessie felt it like an avalanche, cold and crushing and full of all the reasons she no longer really liked her cousin. Reasons she had almost forgotten. Almost.
She climbed onto her bed and pulled the covers up around herself. A minute later, Ann flicked off the light.
Jessie lay awake a long time, listening to her cousin breathing. She could tell Ann wasn’t asleep yet either, but neither of them said anything as the minutes ticked on. Maybe there wasn’t anything else to say.
CHAPTER 11
The next morning Jessie got up and dressed at the first peep from her alarm.
“Seriously, Jessie? It’s Saturday,” Ann grumbled.
“Do dogs care about the weekend?”
“You are such a weirdo.”
Jessie ignored her. She had work to do.
Wes wasn’t out on the porch when Jessie got there. Frowning, she knocked at his door. She could hear the distinctive high-pitched howling of Hazel inside. She knocked again.
“Howooooooo,” Hazel sang.
“Hey, Hazel-bear, quiet down,” Wes said as he opened the door.
“Hazel-bear? Really?” Jessie shook her head.
“What do you want, kid?”
“Same thing I always want. To go walk some dogs!” Jessie grinned and pumped her arms up and down.
“It’s Saturday.”
“Yeah but—”
“I don’t walk dogs on Saturday.”
“But Hazel—”
“Special case. I don’t usually walk dogs on Saturday. Or Sunday, for that matter, so don’t bother showing your face here tomorrow, either.”
This time Jessie was ready, and she wedged her foot in the way before Wes could shut the door in her face.
“Do you mind?” Wes demanded.
“Actually, I’d prefer if you stopped doing that,” Jessie admitted.
“Get off my porch.”
“No.”
Wes sighed and let the door fall open. “What,” he said again, slowly and deliberately, “do you want?”
“I want to talk strategy with you. She’s got another one.”
“She who? Another what?”
“The enemy! Another dog! I saw her with Zelda yesterday at the park.”
“Howoooo. Howoooooooooo!”
“Hazel!” Wes barked. “Shh.”
“HOWOOOOO!”
Across the street, a neighbor pushed back her curtains and glared at them.
Wes shook his head. “Come in.”
Jessie hesitated. “R-really?”
“Either that or go home. It’s no skin off my back. But I have to check on Hazel before she wakes the whole neighborhood.” Wes stepped away from the door, leaving it open. Waiting.
Jessie took a careful step inside, then another one, and looked around.
She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but his house looked normal. Or at least, this part of his house did. There was a small entryway by the front door, with a series of knobs on the left for hanging coats and, in Wes’s case, extra leashes and his dog-walking hip pack. To the right was a shoe rack with three pairs of beat-up sneakers, and beside them, a small stack of folded yellow towels balanced on top of a basket. It all looked surprisingly tidy and organized.
Above the shoe rack a sign proclaimed: “Take Your Shoes Off, You Filthy Animal,” complete with a sketch of a pig in sneakers.
Jessie took off her shoes, then walked through the entryway into the kitchen. It was small but clean, dominated by an old-fashioned refrigerator in the far corner and a small round table with two chairs in the middle. There was a single magnet on the fridge, a large white circle with the words: “Dogs: Because People Suck” written in cartoonish maroon letters. And underneath the magnet . . . Jessie leaned in, squinting. A man crouched with his arm around a dog. He was smiling, and it took Jessie a few seconds before she realized it was a picture of Wes. A really old picture of Wes. He didn’t have that same deep furrow between his eyes and his hair was darker. She reached toward the photo—
“If you’re done nosing about,” Wes said.
Jessie jumped, knocking the magnet off the fridge.
“S-sorry.” She picked up the photo. She realized it was folded; with a glance at Wes’s retreating back she flicked the folded side out. A woman with a round, happy face and long, frizzy, blond hair smiled back at her. Now that Jessie was looking at the whole picture, she could see how the woman’s shoulder brushed against Wes’s, the dog leash wound around her hand.
She remembered what Ann had said the other night, about Wes’s wife running off. Was this a picture of her? I heard she took the dog and everything.
Feeling uncomfortable, Jessie carefully refolded it so the woman was once again hidden, then used the magnet to stick it back to the fridge. She spared one last look at the image of Wes, young and happy, before hurrying through the kitchen to the living room.
And stopped. There was an entire shelf filled with LEGO sets. Spaceships. Castles. Some kind of fancy building with a domed top. “Whoa,” Jessie breathed, reaching out to touch them.
“Don’t even t
hink about it,” Wes said. He was watching her with narrowed eyes from a large reclining chair, Hazel on his lap.
Jessie sighed and dropped her hand. She wanted to ask him about the woman in the photo, but one look at his creased face made her decide not to. Instead she asked, “Why don’t you have a dog?” It had been bothering her for a while. Why would anyone who loved dogs as much as Wes did not have their own dog? She could hardly wait until she got a dog of her very own.
“What’s this look like to you?” He pointed at Hazel, who lifted her snout and sniffed at his finger. Disappointed it wasn’t a treat, she dropped her head back onto her paws.
“I meant a dog of your own,” Jessie said.
“Owning a dog is a big responsibility.”
“But you used to have a dog, didn’t you?”
Wes glared at her. “Let’s just get to the point of your little visit, shall we?”
“I was just asking—”
“And I’m just changing the subject. Now. I think it’s time you learned the third Rule.”
“Of the Ruff?” Jessie hopped from foot to foot, ready.
“Know when to leave it.”
Jessie stopped hopping. “That . . . that’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Just know when to leave it?”
“Exactly. Couldn’t have phrased it better myself.”
“But that is how you phrased it.”
“I know.” Wes smiled. It looked brittle, like his face was cracking.
Jessie bit her lip. “But . . . leave what? How would I know?”
“Figure it out, kid.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
Jessie stood there, her excitement draining away slowly, like water through a clogged sink. “You’re not planning on doing anything about that woman, are you?” she realized.
“Bingo. Give the kid a prize.”
“But, she’s stealing from you!”
“No, she’s running a business. Same as I am. I hate it, too, but there’s no sense getting all worked up about something like that. So I’ve decided,” he opened his eyes, “to leave it.”
“But . . . but it isn’t fair.”
